


i just want to feel your skin pressed against mine

by unbridgeabledistances



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Seasonal Affective Disorder, mickey pampering ian is my love language, partly written out of my own desire for a bubble bath to combat seasonal depression, this is the fluffiest fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27984777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbridgeabledistances/pseuds/unbridgeabledistances
Summary: This week had been fucking tough, for both of them; arguing over money, figuring out communicating like normal fairy-tale-ending married adults. Mickey promised he’d look for a job, but until then Ian kept running himself ragged trying to save up money for them to get their own place, a fever dream that he didn’t want to let go of.After a few stagnant moments, Mickey broke the silence.“C’mon. Let’s go take a bath or some shit.”--Ian’s had a long day, so Ian and Mickey take a bath
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 11
Kudos: 226





	i just want to feel your skin pressed against mine

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in S11, shortly after Ep 1 (because I cannot get the image of Mickey in the bath out of my head)

Ian turned the corner, feeling his weary legs guide him down the final block towards the Gallagher house. It had been a long day—he had left before sunrise for a 9 hour shift at the warehouse, and now the sun was deep beneath the skyline. Ian could see his breath swirling in the frigid air as he walked home.

Ian finally reached the house and could almost feel the warm glow radiating out of the windows—he heard the faint whirring of some stupid action show Carl was watching in the living room, could see Debbie carrying Franny into the bathroom from the upstairs window.

His whole body was tired; leftover sweat from his hard day’s work made Ian’s shirt cling to his skin under his jacket as he turned past the chain-link fence, just wanting to get inside. All Ian could think about was collapsing into his bed as he stumbled up the creaky front steps. He slid through the door and headed right for the front staircase; he could hear Mickey and Sandy bickering in the kitchen about the most efficient way to make a grilled cheese, or some shit like that.

“Put the butter in the pan, you dumbass!”

Ian dragged himself up the stairs, turned the corner, and collapsed face first onto the creaky single bed that he and Mickey shared. Immediately, he felt his muscles relax. He stayed there in the dimly lit room, breathing in the scent of sweat and Mickey’s cheap shampoo that lingered on their pillowcase.

A few minutes later, Ian felt a hand run through his hair.

“You all good, sleeping beauty?”

Ian kept his face down on the pillow. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Just fucking tired. I feel like I act like a machine all day.”

Mickey gave a sympathetic grunt, and then was quiet. He kept standing above Ian, his thumb slowly running circles over Ian’s scalp. This week had been fucking tough, for both of them; arguing over money, figuring out communicating like normal fairy-tale-ending married adults. Mickey promised he’d look for a job, but until then Ian kept running himself ragged trying to save up money for them to get their own place, a fever dream that he didn’t want to let go of.

After a few stagnant moments, Mickey broke the silence.

“C’mon. Let’s go take a bath or some shit.”

Ian slowly lifted his head. God, Mickey was horrible at the conventional “romantic” bullshit, but he was just so _good_. He always knew exactly what Ian needed.

Mickey gave Ian’s head a final noncommittal pat. “I’ll start running the water or whatever.”

Ian rolled himself onto his side and off the stiff mattress and followed Mickey down the hallway. Mickey was already filling up the grimy clawfoot tub with steaming water (thank god, Ian paid the fucking water bill this week). Ian pulled off his jeans and waited for Mickey to start to do the same.

“One sec, I’ll be right back.”

Mickey left the bathroom and Ian pulled off the rest of his clothes and slipped into the half-full tub. Ian closed his eyes and let his head rest on the cool back rim of the tub. He was just _tired_ —he’d been taking his meds and managing his stress, but the winter days getting shorter and Ian leaving the house before sunrise to work in a dimly lit warehouse stacking fucking boxes didn’t necessarily help his quality of life. He knew how to work hard, he wasn’t a pussy; he just felt a little off balance. A little sadder, a little more tired.

The bathroom door creaked and Ian opened his eyes. Mickey reentered the room, holding two beers and a round blue bottle. He seemed slightly more upbeat than when he had left.

“Hey! Debbie gave me some of that bubble bath shit that she uses with Franny—I was grabbing a beer and she heard the water running, so—”

Ian had to laugh. “You want to take a fucking bubble bath?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You got a problem with that, Gallagher? We already can’t get any gayer, might as well fucking embrace it.”

Ian gently smirked. “Fair enough.”

Mickey handed a beer to Ian, cracked open his own, and squeezed nearly half the fucking bottle of Franny’s bubble bath into the tub while he took a sip. He stripped off his clothes and slowly sank into the scalding water, wedging himself on top of Ian and laying back.

Ian closed his eyes and sank his head back onto the edge of the tub again. He heard the bubbles starting to foam and fizz around them. He could almost feel his own heart beating, reverberating as it pressed against the back of Mickey’s chest, vibrating straight through Mickey and back to him. Like they were one. That was what it felt like when they slept pressed together, but this was even better; Ian felt safe, pinned down with Mickey’s dense, steady weight on top of his chest. He felt held.

Ian fluttered his eyes open and could instantly tell Mickey was as drowsy as he was; he was leaning back against Ian’s chest, the arm holding his beer limply hanging over the edge of the tub and his eyelids drooping. He was practically snoring.

Ian felt something welling in his chest. For how stressful shit felt this week, he sometimes forgot about how lucky he was to have this; to have gone from the ragged, dirt-smudged kids they used to be to taking a literal fucking bubble bath together on a Tuesday night. To finally feel safe, to feel comfortable, for once in their goddamn lives.

Ian smiled, then splashed Mickey’s face with a fistful of bubbles.

“Hey, man! What the fuck!”

Mickey splashed him back, and Ian laughed and poked his sides and splashed him again until Mickey turned around, ready to attack.

Mickey stopped and looked at him for a second, almost serious. Like he was trying to decide if Ian was really okay, if Ian was pretending to be good when he was really on a high-speed train to a depressive episode. Mickey apparently seemed satisfied with what he saw, because he redoubled his efforts and shoved a handful of bubbles into Ian’s face.

“Take that, motherfucker!”

That was another thing Ian loved about Mickey, that he knew when Ian was seriously, depressively down, and when he didn’t need to worry. He’d seen Ian gaunt-faced and unable to get out of bed; Mickey knew when he needed to worry, but right now he didn’t have that veiled fear in his eyes.

Ian scraped the bubbles off his chin, and pinned Mickey back down to lay against his chest.

“Alllright, settle down, tough guy.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but happily nestled against Ian once more. Ian pressed his lips to the top of Mickey’s head, all damp hair and strawberry-smelling bubbles. Mickey took another sip of his beer.

“Y’know. I’ve been thinking. And… I guess saving to get a place together wouldn’t be that bad of an idea.”

Ian grinned. “You sure? You’d have to probably get a real ass job, while I’m keeping this place afloat with bills and stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess I can stop bullshitting my PO and actually get to work. Y’know. For us, or whatever. So we can get out of this shithole, get our own place.”

Ian nudged him. “That sounds good, Mick.”

Mickey took another sip of his beer. “Besides, we’re gonna definitely need our own bathroom sooner rather than later. I’m definitely gonna be taking more fucking bubble baths and I don’t know if all your family members need to find out about that.”

Ian pressed another kiss to his head. “Yeah, okay, tough guy.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!! comments/kudos make my heart happy:)


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